Christmas Eves
by Emador
Summary: A companion piece to "Key Choices." Christmas Eves with Grace & Spot throughout the years. [repost; originally published December 2015 as a gift to coveredinbees14].
1. 1887

_Author's Note: I originally posted this story in the winter of 2015, but had subsequently taken it down when I found out there had been other sites mirroring . Luckily that has passed, and I will be reposting all of my old stories! My apologies to my followers who will be bombarded with "New Story/Chapter" alerts. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _1887_

Five-year-old Grace sat on the bed she shared with her mother. The smell of the Christmas Eve dinner they just finished still hung in the air. Grace's belly had never been so full.

"Pearl!" Mrs. Conlon yelled. "You and your daughter partook in this meal, you better get in here and help me clean it up!"

Gracie heard her mother walk back into the apartment. "I was just taking out the first load of garbage," she responded graciously.

"Good. I hope you weren't expecting to free load tonight just because it's Christmas Eve," said Mrs. Conlon. "My husband doesn't work all the hours he works just to support you and your daughter."

"Of course not," said Grace's mother.

Grace ran her hand over her doll's yarn hair, trying to ignore Mrs. Conlon's berating of her mother.

"Psst, Gracie," said a voice. Gracie looked up and saw Patrick Conlon's mischievous grin poking through the sheet that divided the two halves of the living room.

"Hi Patrick," she grinned.

"It's Christmas Eve!" He beamed. "Are you excited about Santa coming tonight!"

Gracie furrowed her brow and tilted her head. "Who's he?"

Patrick frowned and walked into the makeshift room. "You mean you've never heard of Santa Claus?"

Gracie shook her head.

"He's the one that brings presents, silly. He comes into people's houses and leaves presents."

Gracie held her doll closer. "I don't want anyone coming into our house."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "He's not a bad guy, silly. He's gonna leave us presents!"

Grace looked at him suspiciously. "I've never gotten any presents from him."

"Really?" Patrick scrunched his nose in confusion. "Well maybe this year you will!"

"Patrick, you better be washing up for bed like I told you!" Mrs. Conlon yelled.

Patrick sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

"She scares me," Grace whispered.

"Don't let her," said Patrick, glancing over his shoulder. "She's all bark and no bite. Nothin' like my real mother."

"What was she like?"

Patrick walked over and sat next to Grace. "A lot like your ma. She was really nice." He looked down at his hands and Grace rested her head on his shoulder.

"Patrick, I don't hear you getting ready!" Mrs. Conlon yelled.

Patrick hopped off the bed and walked through the sheet. Gracie hopped off the bed and changed into her nightclothes, knowing her mother would be calling for her to do so at any moment.

* * *

Later that night, when the apartment was dark and still, Gracie lay in bed next to her mother, unable to sleep, afraid that every little noise was this Santa Claus man trying to break into their apartment. Every noise caused her to whimper a little.

"Gracie."

Grace held her doll tighter at the sound of someone whispering her name.

"Are you still awake?"

It was Patrick. Grace exhaled a little. "Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"No. I'm scared."

Grace heard rustling and little footsteps before Patrick's face appeared through the sheet.

"There's no need to be scared, silly. Come wait for Santa with me."

Grace crawled out of bed, clutching her doll and followed Patrick into the Conlon's side of the living room. Patrick's small mattress was on the floor. They crawled onto the mattress and under the covers.

"Santa isn't scary," Patrick whispered. "He's a happy, jolly man who brings presents. I think if you were scared, he would want you to not be scared."

"How do you know about him?"

"Everyone knows about him."

Grace was quiet for a moment. "I don't."

"Well, he wears a red suit, and rides in a sleigh with reindeer." Just then they heard bells jingling from outside. Patrick grabbed her hand. "Shh."

"I'm scared," Grace whispered.

"Don't be. Listen." The bells began to grow slightly louder. "He's coming. Quick pretend to be asleep, or he won't come."

Gracie shut her eyes tight. She and Patrick lay silent and still, listening to the jingle bells.

Soon, they both drifted off to sleep.


	2. 1889

_1889_

"Hey! No fair!" Patrick yelled, laughing, as Grace and their good friend Anthony Higgins pelted him with snowballs. "We said no teams!"

"We're not on a team," Grace giggled. "We're just both attacking you at the same time!"

Patrick used his arms to shield his face and body, trying to crawl away. He grabbed as much snow as he could and flung it in their direction.

"Whoa!" Patrick heard Anthony say. "Gracie, are you okay?"

Patrick stood up and felt his stomach drop when he saw that all the snow he threw hit Grace full on in the face.

"Oh, Gracie, I'm so sorry," said Patrick, rushing over to her.

Grace spit out the snow, turning her back to them and wiping her face. "I'm okay." Both Anthony and Patrick could hear her voice crack and her sniffle. "I'm fine." She was trying her best not to cry in front of her friends.

Patrick put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Grace nodded, wiping her tears while pretending to wipe the snow away. She hated to cry in front of the boys. They had never made fun of her when she had, but she always wanted to be strong and tough like them.

The church bells chimed.

"I gotta get goin'," said Anthony. "Dinner's gonna be on the table soon."

"See ya, Tony. Merry Christmas," said Patrick.

"Bye, Anthony," Grace put on a smile.

Anthony gave her a soft smile. "Merry Christmas, you two."

"Guess we should get goin' too," said Patrick. "The witch will probably be mad at us for bein' late."

Grace took his hand and gave it a squeeze as they walked down the street. "I'm sorry you have her for a stepmother."

Patrick was quiet for a moment as they walked along. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Grace nodded.

Patrick shrugged. "Sometimes I pretend your ma is my ma."

Grace grinned. "So it's like you're my brother."

Patrick nodded.

Grace's grin grew. "We're family, Conlon. No matter what."

Patrick grinned as they turned the corner and walked down their street. When they reached the door to their apartment, Patrick held his arm out, stopping her.

"Wait," he said. "Before we go inside, there's somethin' I wanted to give you."

Grace turned toward him.

Patrick dug into his pocket and pulled out a bright blue ribbon.

Grace's face lit up. "Is that for me?"

Patrick nodded. "Merry Christmas, Gracie."

Grace threw her arms around Patrick, hugging him. "Thank you so much!"

She took her braid and pulled off the piece of twine that usually held the braid in place. She took the ribbon from Patrick and tied a nice bow at the end of her braid.

"How does it look?" She grinned.

Patrick nodded. "It looks good."


	3. 1894

_1894_

Grace shivered as she and Patrick trudged through the snow-covered streets of North Brooklyn. "We'll be inside soon, Gracie," said Patrick. "I promise. It'll have warm soup, hot coffee, and a nice fire going."

Grace nodded. They had been walking for an hour trying to find some place that was open on Christmas Eve. She believed in Patrick. She knew he'd find a place for them to eat. She knew he'd get her warm.

Never in a million years did she think she'd find herself in this situation on a Christmas Eve.

They'd been living on the street for the past two weeks – ever since they'd come home from school to find the hand that life had dealt Grace.

 _Patrick and Grace walked in the front door of the apartment and began to take off their coats and scarves when Mrs. Conlon appeared with the baby on her hip._

 _"Pack your things, Grace," said Mrs. Conlon._

 _Patrick frowned. "What's going on?"_

 _"Pearl died this morning while you two were at school," said Mrs. Conlon._

 _Grace felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. "What?" her voice cracked._

 _"The undertaker took her away a few hours ago," said Mrs. Conlon. "I've already sent for one of the matrons at the girls orphanage down the street. She'll be coming for you shortly."_

 _"No!" Patrick frowned._

 _Grace walked trance-like toward a chair and sat down, still reeling from the shock of the initial news._

 _"Patrick, we can't afford to feed another mouth without rent," said Mrs. Conlon. "As it was, Pearl was behind on her rent ever since she got sick. So, unless Grace can get a job and pay rent, she needs to leave."_

 _"This is so unfair!" Patrick yelled, startling the baby. The baby began to cry._

 _Mrs. Conlon sighed. "Now look what you did." She walked away, lightly bouncing the baby, trying to calm the child._

 _Patrick turned to Grace, who had tears streaming down her cheeks. He grabbed her hand and dragged her through the sheet that divided the living room._

 _"Pack your bags," he whispered._

 _Grace looked up at him, panic-stricken. "What?"_

 _"Shh," he said. "Just trust me. Pack anything you want to take with you and do it fast."_

Patrick hadn't let her go to the orphanage. He put a few of his own belongings into a pillow case and stole a few dollars from his stepmom's purse without her noticing. By the time the matron from the orphanage came to the apartment, Patrick and Grace were long gone, having run away out the window and down the fire escape.

Despite the cold December nights, Patrick always managed to find a place for them to sleep. Not all of them were warm, but they weren't freezing outside.

"Here we go," said Patrick as they walked up to a restaurant, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Patrick pulled the door open and a rush of warm air greeted them. Grace walked in. She felt like her skin was melting in the most glorious way.

"Sorry, kids, it may be Christmas Eve, but we ain't givin' out freebies," said the owner.

"We don't want any freebies," said Patrick. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of coins and put them on the counter.

The owner pushed the coins around, counting them and then nodded. "You kids have a seat," he nodded toward the empty tables.

Patrick led Grace over and they sat down.

Grace looked across the table at her companion. She could see the stress and worry etched on his face – worries and stresses that no twelve year-old should have. She trusted him completely and had absolute faith in him. He had not let her down once.

The owner brought over two cups of hot coffee. Grace wrapped her hands around the warm mug and bowed her head, letting the steam from the coffee warm her face.

"I might have a place for us to stay tonight," said Spot.

Grace looked up at him.

"One where we won't have to split up."

"Really?" They had been searching for lodging houses all around Brooklyn. They'd found girls lodging houses and boys lodging houses, but none of them were close to each other. Neither of them wanted to split up. Patrick felt the compulsion to be near her to keep an eye on her. Grace was nervous to be on her own after relying on him for so long.

Patrick nodded. "I met some fellas when I was gettin' our papes this morning," he said. "They seemed like solid guys."

"The same guys who keep callin' you Spot?" asked Grace.

Patrick nodded and rolled his eyes. "One time… _one_ time, I ask if they'd spot me a couple cents, and now it's a big joke."

Grace grinned and shrugged. "It kinda suits you. Spot Conlon."

"Spike would be better."

Grace laughed for the first time since her mother had gotten sick six weeks ago. "Spike? Spike Conlon?" She laughed as Patrick rolled his eyes.

The owner came over and placed one plate of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and green beans between them. "That's what you can afford," said the owner.

Patrick nodded. "Thank you."

He picked up a fork and knife and began cutting the turkey. He divided up all the food on the plate, giving Grace slightly larger portions.

"This stuffing is great," said Patrick. "Reminds me of your mom's." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he paused and looked over at her. "Sorry, Gracie."

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. "It's okay." She sniffed and wiped her eyes before he tears could come. "It does taste like her stuffing."

Patrick put his utensils down and put his hand on hers.

"I'm an orphan," Grace said softly.

"Yeah," said Spot. "But you still got family."

Grace looked up and grinned. "Merry Christmas…Spot."

Patrick grinned and shook his head. "Merry Christmas, Gracie."


	4. 1896

_1896_

"Alright, show 'em," said Anthony, or Race, as the newsies has nicknamed him, the stub of a cigar between his teeth. Spot laid down his cards – a pair of twos. Grace laid down her cards – nothing. "Read 'em and weep, kids!" Race proudly displayed his full house.

"Why do we even bother?" asked Grace as Race pulled the small pile of coins toward himself.

"I don't know," Race grinned. "We've been playin' poker since we were eight…you still haven't beat me."

"I beat you when we play gin rummy," said Grace.

Race smirked and was about to make a smartass remark when they heard yelling out in front of the lodging house. They all shared a look before rushing to the front of the lodging house. The other Brooklyn newsies were already there, looking out the door or the window.

"What's going on?" asked Grace, trying to see around the taller boys.

"Knuckle is taking on a couple of fellas from Red Hook," said Blaze.

"What are Red Hook newsies doin' around here?" frowned Race.

Blaze shrugged.

"Gracie, go up to your room," said Spot.

"What? Why?"

"Just go." With that, Spot pushed through the newsies that had crowded around the front door and stumbled onto the snow-covered street.

Grace pushed her way to one of the windows and watched.

"Well well well, if it ain't the little squirt," she heard one of the Red Hook boys say.

"Spot, get out of here, go back inside," said Knuckle. "This don't have anything to do with you."

"Not when you're outnumbered three to one," said Spot.

"Gracie, get away from the window," said Race, reaching for her arm.

"No," said Grace, pulling away.

"It's gonna get ugly out there," said Race.

"I don't care."

But as soon as the scuffle began, she was covering her eyes, only occasionally taking a peek to see where Spot was. None of the Brooklyn boys ran out to help.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" she pushed the boy next to her. "They need help out there!"

"Ain't our fight, Grace," he said.

"But Knuckle and Spot need your help!" said Grace. "That alone should be enough for you to be out there!"

A collective gasp from the newsies watching caused Grace to look back out the window.

Spot was on the ground, holding his side. Knuckle was lying on the ground, unmoving. Two of the Red Hook boys were standing beside and behind their leader.

"Let that be a lesson to all of North Brooklyn!" the leader yelled at the boys watching through the windows. "Stay out of Red Hook!" He spit on Knuckle's body and the three of them walked away.

Grace pushed her way through the crowd and burst out the door.

"Spot!" She rushed over to him and put her arm around him. "What happened? What hurts?"

"I'm fine," said Spot, wincing as Grace helped him stand up. "How's Knuckle?"

Grace looked behind her and saw a dark red stain spreading on Knuckle's shirt.

"Not good."

Grace tried to help Spot walk inside, but he brushed her off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Help Knuckle."

Grace let him go, allowing him to walk into the lodging house on his own strength.

She turned around and walked over to Knuckle. She knelt next to his body and saw he wasn't breathing, and his eyes were blankly staring ahead.

She stood up and turned around.

Spot had gone inside and Race stood in the doorway. Grace just shook her head. Knuckle was dead.

* * *

Spot sat on one of the benches, letting Grace tend to him. She kept a cold cloth pressed to the side of his face, which was helping minimally with the pain.

He looked up at her. "How is he?"

Grace glanced at his eyes and then went back to paying attention to his shiner. "Gone."

Spot closed his eyes. He should've known better. He knew that Knuckle had trouble with the Red Hook boys, but he didn't know what. He thought he had been doing the right thing, backing his leader, but it only ended up with him getting soaked.

"Hey Spot?" Blaze walked up to him. "What should we do with Knuckle's body? Won't be good news for any of us if someone finds it."

"Take him to the river," said Spot.

Blaze nodded. He glanced over at Grace, his gaze lingering long enough for Spot to notice before he walked away.

"They're already lookin' to you," said Grace quietly. Spot looked at her. Grace shrugged. "These boys don't do well without a leader."

He sighed. He wasn't surprised. When they had moved into the lodging house two years ago, Knuckle had taken Spot under his wing – taught him how to sell the papes, showed him how to deal with lodging house fights, and taught him how to keep the peace with the local street gangs. Whenever Spot wasn't with Grace, he'd been with Knuckle. It was natural that after Knuckle was gone, the boys would look to him.

But he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment. His main concern was the look he saw Blaze give Grace before he walked away. He knew Blaze, and he knew what was always on his mind. Spot did not want Grace anywhere near Blaze.

He decided that his first message as leader would be unspoken, yet clear.

His Gracie was off limits.


	5. 1898

_1898_

Spot set a small box on the bed next to him.

"I thought we said no gifts this year," said Gracie.

Spot shrugged. "I lied."

Grace sighed, but couldn't help but smile. She picked up the box and untied the small ribbon.

She opened the box and saw a tiny pearl pendant attached to a thin silver chain.

"Spot," she gasped.

Spot grinned. "I thought you might like it."

"Spot, this is…how did you afford this?"

Spot shrugged. "I saved."

"You didn't have to do something this…huge."

"You deserve somethin' pretty."

Grace smiled and hugged him. "Thank you, Patrick."

"You're welcome, Gracie."

"Now I feel like a cad because I didn't get you anything," she said.

"I don't need anything," said Spot. Grace could tell he wanted to say something more, but he kept silent. Instead, he took the necklace from her and put it around her neck, fumbling a bit with the clasp.

Lately things had been different between them. It was nothing obvious or notable; Grace just had a feeling. It was as if every time Spot was around her, he wanted to say something he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Gracie, you know you're my best friend, right?" he said, taking her hand. "Nothing is ever gonna change that."

Grace nodded. "We're family."

Spot grinned and nodded. "We're family."

Grace leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Gracie," Spot said as he pulled her into a side hug. She rested her head on his shoulder as they watched the snowfall outside.


	6. 1900

_1900_

Spot watched the snowfall outside the window of Gracie's old room in lodging house and sighed.

It was his first Christmas without Gracie.

A whole year. His first year without Gracie since he was four. A whole year without her in his life.

He sat on her old bed and ran his hand over the covers. That was where she used to sleep. It was also where she made her money after the strike. Shuddering, Spot stood up and walked to the window.

He remembered the last night they spent together. He had walked her back to her house after the party at Medda's and they made love until the early hours of the morning.

Made love. That is what it had been. Spot didn't want to pay for it, and Gracie didn't want money for it. They had just wanted to be together. Then, like an idiot, he'd left early, only waiting until after she was asleep.

He remembered the way she fit perfectly into his arms – her cheek against his shoulder, her warm even breath on his chest.

He remembered the way she'd smiled at him whenever she saw him, even after he'd kicked her out. That smile that made his stomach do flips; that he would spend the minutes before he fell asleep thinking of more ways he could make her smile.

He remembered how safe he'd felt with her. Ever since his mother had died when he was 3, the world had been a dangerous place – he always had to be on his guard. But when he was with Gracie, he could let his guard down. He didn't have to worry about being Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies – he could just be regular Patrick Conlon.

He'd almost told her he loved her. He should have told her he loved her. He had loved her. He had always loved her – and he spent a year hating himself for never saying or doing anything about it.

He blamed himself. When he realized how he felt about her two years ago, he should've asked her to be his girl. She belonged with him. If he had done that, she would've never slept with Blaze. She would never have prostituted herself so she could eat. He would have never kicked her out. She would have never had to get rid of the baby. They would've been fine.

Why had he been so damn stubborn?

* * *

Gracie sat at her windowsill and looked out over the street. Church was just getting out and some Christmas carolers were singing as people walked home.

Christmas was so different in Nevada. Christmas was also much hotter in Nevada. She missed home. She missed New York. She didn't miss the stench of garbage or the creepy men who'd visit her in the house. But she missed the snow. She missed her view of the Brooklyn Bridge. She missed Racetrack. But most of all, she missed—

She couldn't think about him without tears stinging the back of her eyes. For the first few months she was gone, she was so angry with him. Now she just missed him. Desperately.

She thought about their last Christmas Eve together, both of them warm and tangled up in each other.

 _"Don't leave, Gracie. I'll make things better. We can change things."_

His voice still echoed in her mind. She'd wanted so desperately to believe him. If she had stayed, would he have stood by what he said? Would things have changed?

 _"You say it and I'll quit the business." Spot's grin faded. "You say it and I'll move back to Brooklyn. I'll become a newsie again. No more other men. It'll be you and me."_

 _It took Spot a moment to find his voice. "Gracie…"_

 _"You can't hide it anymore, Conlon," she said. "Not from me."_

 _Spot took her hand. "It's not that easy, Gracie."_

No. Nothing would have changed. He wanted her to stay. She just wanted him to admit that he loved her. If he couldn't say it, what made her think anything would have changed?

She sniffed and realized there were tears running down her cheeks.


	7. 1913

_1913_

Grace stood at the stove, stirring the stew. She glanced at the clock and saw that Spot would be home any minute. She glanced out the kitchen window, which overlooked the East River and the Brooklyn Bridge.

They had finished moving into their new apartment a couple months ago.

Grace thought back to the last Christmas Eve – the worst Christmas Eve she'd ever had with Spot.

They'd gotten into a huge fight about the apartment, money, and having kids. Grace had wanted to move to another place, and Spot couldn't see what was wrong with their current place. Grace wanted to use the money she'd made from her endeavors out west, and Spot wanted it to sit in the bank, allowing himself alone to provide for them. Both of them had wanted kids, but despite their efforts, they couldn't. They suspected Grace's abortion had had something to do with it.

Spot had slept on the couch that Christmas Eve, as Grace cried herself to sleep.

After several months, they had finally worked through their problems. Both of them slowly learned to accept that they might not have kids. Spot conceded to using Grace's money to buy a bigger place, so long as the rest of the money was put away for emergency use only.

Working through their problems hadn't been easy, especially with their respective stubbornness. But Grace had high hopes that if last Christmas Eve had been their worst together, her surprise for him tonight would make this their best one together.

The lock turning snapped Grace out of her thoughts.

"Merry Christmas," Spot grinned, walking into the apartment.

"Merry Christmas," Grace grinned, walking over to him. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his.

Spot held her tight; putting everything he was into the kiss. He moved back barely an inch and rested his forehead against hers.

"I can't tell you how many Christmas Eves I've been wanting to do that," he grinned.

"Oh, I've got a pretty good idea." Grace grinned and gave him one more peck. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Smells great."

"Did you pick up the gifts for William, Joey, and little Grace?" she asked, walking back over to the stove.

Spot nodded and held up a few brown-wrapped packages.

"Perfect," she grinned.

"What time are we heading to Race and Elsie's tomorrow?" he asked.

"Elsie said anytime, so I told her we'd be there around one o'clock."

Spot nodded as he took off his coat and hung it up.

Grace put the lid on the pot and turned down the heat, letting the stew sit.

Spot sat on the couch and Grace walked over and curled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

Out their window, they watched the snowfall into the East River.

"Hell of a view," Spot said. Grace grinned.

"Only one flaw," said Grace. From their window, they could also see the neighborhood where Grace's old brothel was.

"I don't care," said Spot. "You're here with me now. That old house can sit over there and rot for all I care."

Grace chuckled. She was silent for a few beats before she spoke up again. "Sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like if I'd never started working."

Spot was silent for a few beats before he looked down at her. "You remember the Christmas I gave you that necklace?"

Grace's hand instinctively went to her throat, where the small pearl pendant still hung from a thin chain.

"Yeah," she grinned.

"When I gave that to you, I was planning on asking you to be my girl," he said.

Grace looked up at him. "What stopped you?"

Spot shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I guess I got scared that you'd laugh at me. That you'd say we were just friends, nothing more."

Grace sat up a bit and turned toward him. "I would never have laughed at you," he said. "I was in love with you."

Spot sighed. "I always blamed myself for the trouble you got in."

"You can't blame yourself for that," said Grace. "I made my own choices."

"I know," said Spot. "I guess I always thought I could protect you from anything."

"Don't blame yourself," said Grace. "Besides, I'm here now."

Spot looked at her and grinned. "Yeah you are."

"And I'm never going away," she smiled, snuggling into his side once more. He briefly tightened his arm around her.

They sat in companionable silence, watching the snow for a few more moments before Grace spoke up again.

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"Yes," said Spot without hesitation. Grace looked up at him. "You survived the sinking of the _Titanic_ on your way back to New York. The very night you got back, I managed to find you. I'd call that a miracle."

Grace grinned and nestled her head on his shoulder. Spot rested his cheek against the top of her head.

"What about you?" Spot asked.

"Mm-hmm," Grace nodded.

"What's your miracle?"

Grace was silent for a moment. "Our baby."

It took Spot a moment to process what she had said. His head jerked up and he looked down at her. "What?"

Grace sat up and looked at him, tears in her eyes. "I'm pregnant."

"You're sure?"

Grace nodded.

"What…I mean…how? I thought you couldn't."

Grace shrugged, grinning and crying at once. "I thought I couldn't either."

Spot pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. He buried his face in the base of her neck. Grace held onto him just as tight.

"I love you, Gracie," he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

"I love you too, Patrick."

"Promise me one thing," said Spot.

"Hmm?"

Spot moved his head so his lips were right next to her ear. "We'll tell our kid about Santa Claus before he's five."

Grace giggled. "Agreed."


End file.
